


Untether The Flames

by solitariusvirtus



Series: Uncanny Westeros (Otherworlds) [15]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-16 00:12:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9265241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: The long and fruitful alliance between Rhaegar Targaryen and the kin of his beloved mistress has kept a relative peace throughout the land. From one great tourney to another, however, there are stepping stones and iron wills.  It is just a matter of time before the stability of the realm is shaken.





	1. Aemon

 

 

 

 

 

 

“This is not nearly as dreamy an affair as I was promised.” The woman, who had been previously lying on her back, drew herself up and circled both arms around her knees. “There’s something wet beneath me and a thousand tiny pebbles in my shoes.” Even in the low firelight the flattening of her lips was visible. And what lips they were, rosy and plump. Made for pouting sullenly, their septa always said when his sister took it into her head to protest by such a manner.

“You did not have to come with me,” he pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I told you not to lie down there. It rained. Forsooth it’d be wet.” Nevertheless, allowing harm to his sister was not aught he was prepared to do. Climbing to his feet, he dragged the furs along until they could be draped across her curled form. “Moat Cailin is not for everyone.”

“’Tis not for anyone, I should say. And this tower, Jon? This one? What was wrong with the one that had a roof? Not nearly dilapidated enough for you, I assume, but it would have been perfect for me.” He wrapped an arm around his sister, pulling her into his side. A chuckle escaped the carful confinements of his amusement. “I am being serious.”

“Alys, you chose to come with me. I never hid my destination, did I?” He patted her dark tresses condescendingly. “If you want the Gatehouse Tower, I’ll make a fire for you there, and you can sleep near it. But I am not leaving this one.”

A sigh flittered past his sister’s lips. “Why are you so enamoured of this pile of rocks? You are almost as bad as father. Only that since they rebuilt Summerhall there are no ruins for him to haunt. And I should understand, were you to carry some harp of your own, or even pipes. But you only come here to sit and gaze at the stars. They are just as fine from one’s lancet in a nice keep with a big fire and servants to ask for a bit of hot tea and some food.” By the time she had finished, a marvellous feat, for she’d spoken without even taking a break to breathe, Alys was out of air and panting lightly.

“You’ll make yourself sick,” Jon warned, pushing gently into her shoulder. She pushed back. “And I know naught of caring for sick maidens. Father will be furious enough that we’ve galloped off together in the middle of the night. Let alone if I bring you back ailing. I quite like my head.”

“I’ve always thought it could use some trimming,” the girl answered primly. She uncoiled her arms from around her knees and stretched her legs out. “Is that the Red Wandered?” His sister pointed her finger at the presumed Wanderer expectantly.

Jon squinted at the thing. It could not be the Wanderer. He’d passed already within the Moonmaid. “Nay, there he is.” He pointed the star out to her. But his eyes were upon the one still moving. A thought wormed its way inside his skull. “Alys, it’s moving,” he finally breathed out, as though he could not quite believe it himself.

Naturally, all stars moved. It was aught he’d been taught long ago. But usually one could only observe it through repeated instances of notice. This one, however, quite clearly made its path known.

“I can see that.” Her fingers dug into his arm. “The far-eye,” she reminded him, scrambling away to dive after it herself. Jon allowed her that, too caught up in his own thoughts.

But why would a bleeding star appear this night out of all nights? There had been one for Aegon, he knew. Yet Viserys’ wife had just given birth and Daenerys was not yet a wife. His mother, might be, but it made little sense. This would be her seventh child, would it not? Jon counted on his fingers just to be sure.

“Jon,” Alys’ call interrupted him. “This is wonderful.”

Snapped out of his prison, he gazed at the girl. She’d tilted the far-eye back and was craning her neck awkwardly. But she smiled. She would not be smiling in the morning when her neck was stiff. Jon pushed to his feet and took the lens from her hands. He placed it to his own eye and observed their discovery. “I wonder if Maester Aemon knows something about this.”

He could almost hear Alys rolling her eyes. “You sound like father more and more each day. Might be we should have sent you to the Citadel instead. You would have had your fill of looking at those blasted stars. Can you not simply enjoy it without dragging the whole thing into whatever grand plan you have?”

“I have no grand plans,” he argued calmly, depositing the far-eye back in her hands. “Shall I make that fire for you then?”

“I am not leaving here,” she laughed, once more gazing at the comet. “It has such a brilliant shine.” A magpie; Jon was quite certain that was what his sister was. There was no other explanation for her adoration of anything that sparkled. He grimaced at her obvious joy and shook his head. He wondered if anyone had figured she was missing as well.

A sudden jolt ran though him.   

He shook off the unease with an expert roll of the shoulders and cast one single glance to Alys’ face before he was assured of her relative engrossment in the stars. Put at ease on that account he called to her that he’d be without, to which Alys made a noncommittal sound. Jon left her there and clambered his way down the spiralling stairs in complete darkness. After years and years of  exploring these steps, he knew each and every single one.

Without a lively gale toyed with nature, twisting grass blades and tugging playfully at his own cloak. Jon was not paying that any mind. He eyed the darkened road with great concern. And it was not long before his fears were confirmed. The sounds were faint, yet unmistakable. He ought to have known, Jon supposed, but at the moment he could do little other than curse the wilful heavens and might be his own stupidity.

Hooves pounded the earth, trampling all in its wake. Voices, indistinguishable, began to flitter through his ears. Shoulders sagging at the impeding violation of his blessed solitude, he resigned himself to sharing what ought to have been a perfectly pleasant few days. And he’d had the right of it.

Torchlight speared the darkness with a sea of points as the party approached.

“Come to greet us, have you, brother?” A muffled groan broke out from somewhere behind the speaker, but Jon kept his eyes on the dismounting Rhaegel. He was going to kill his brother. Regardless of whether kinslaying would see him hanged until death. But Rhaegel, blissfully unaware of the danger he exposed himself to, clapped a hand over Jon’s shoulder. “Mother believes you’ve taken Alys with you. I told her it was utter nonsense, but she insisted we come looking.”

“What does father believe?” He was almost worried to have posed the question. But then, they’d already alerted more than enough souls and half of Winterfell had come in search of Alys. What harm could it possibly do?

“He was up at the crack of dawn, sieving through the guests, in search of anyone who might have been enough of a fool to have left. I genuinely thought Joffery Baratheon would piss himself. The look on his face, I tell you.” Rhaegel laughed at the memory of the squire’s suffering, but beyond that, Jon could see his eyes were searching the premises. “So?”

“She’s up in the tower, looking at the stars.” At that his brother began laughing even harder. If his namesake had choked on a bit of lamprey pie, then this Rhaegel would lose his breath to laughter. How could a man be so constantly amused?

“The realm is burning and she’s combing her hair. Women.” His shoulder was once again assaulted by a few sturdy claps. “Do I need to point out His Majesty nearly had an apoplexy fit? Shaera and Naerys tried to keep it from them as long as they could, but you know Naerys. Can’t lie to save her life, poor thing.”    

“There’s two horses,” someone called out, as though to confirm Jon’s earlier words. “Looks like Lady Alys’.”

“Is that Ned Dayne?” Jon questioned, squinting at the form leading his sister’s horse up. “Does father know Alys’ most ardent suitor has been tasked with finding her?”

“Leave the poor boy be. ‘Tis not his fault our sister particularly enjoys teasing him.” To be fair, Alys did not merely enjoy it as a pastime. If Edric Dayne was anywhere near, his sister was most certainly flirting his brain into ground mush. And the poor devil was helpless to deny her. “That aside, drawn dogs are always amusing to watch. One of these days he’ll break down.”

“And you live with the hope that the morrow will be that day,” Jon drawled, eyeing the rest of the company. There was Ser Beric, an amused looking Oswell Whent and a beleaguered Ser Barrsistan, a few other men. “Why in the gods’ name did you bring Lemore?” The woman was currently flirting with Whent, flashing him a saucy grin.

“Wouldn’t be proper otherwise,” Rhaegel explained slowly, as though he were speaking to a child. “She’d hardly the worst. And my only other choice was Mordane.” They both shuddered lightly. “Those eyes, that grim mouth. Alys would have been miserable.” Not to mention any jest involving genitalia would have been scoffed and whimpered at as though it were some sort of betrayal. Jon gave him a sidelong glance. “Very well, I would have been miserable as well.”

“All the more reason to have her here. Any charge of Lemore’s is possibly more qualified to look after her than the other way around.” As though to prove his point, the women leaned in until the low cut of her kirtle displayed more than a decent amount of bosom. “It’s a wonder Alys hasn’t run off with some errant knight by now.”

“Not that she’ll get much a chance of it either.” His brother finally broke from him and called after one of his companions. Jon patiently awaited the coming explanation. “Aegon will be wedding Lady Margaery after all,” Rhaegel continued after having instructed the man to settle with the rest in the Gatehouse Tower. ”You know her fool of a father will play to His Majesty’s every tune, thus does he salivate at the thought of his daughter as queen someday.”

“He’s not planning on giving her to the flower knight, is he?” Rhaegel nodded mournfully. “I do not understand, did father not ask for the heir?”

“The eldest apparently has no intention to ever wed, the second has recently taken a Fossoway to bride. There’s only this one left.” And Jon would die before he allowed Loras Tyrell a clear path to his sister. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Alys can charm blood out of dry stone. One reluctant lord should not be too much trouble.” His kin offered a sly nod. “If need be, I’ll throw her into his bed myself. Rhaegel, she would be mocked fiercely when her husband’s proclivities become known.”

“That you do not need to tell me. I am agreeing with your plan.” The noise around them had dwindles some. Most had gone to their assigned tower. The White Cloaks lingered. “By the by, there is a plan beyond throwing Alys into someone’s bed, is there not?”

“I’ll let you know when I’ve worked it out.” Apparently placated with that much, and given his nature, Jon was not surprised, Rhaegel moved past him into the tower.

“I will go make nice to our sister, shall I? And tell her the magnificent news.” At those words Jon reached out to stop him, but the younger brother chuckled. “What a fool you are. I was talking of Edric. You never learn, Aemon.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Jon's actual names - in the documents, as it were - is Aemon, but as you may have observed everyone calls him Jon. Yes, you'll find out why at some point.


	2. Lyanna

 

 

 

 

 

 

From her vantage position, resting against a mound of pillows, her feet slightly suspended, Lyanna still had very clear sight of her pacing King. She blinked a few times, slowly, counting the heartbeats in her head. “Mayhap you should sit, my love, these carpets weren’t bought yesterday.” To give him credit where due, he did pause. “And you are making my feet ache just looking at you.”

“Our daughter has disappeared into the night and you want me to sit back and read a scroll?” The flat tone of voice mated with a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“Your son has disappeared as well. I do not see you calling army contingencies over that,” she answered, shifting until she’d managed to elevate herself further. “This is not at all tolerable behaviour. Aemon has matters well in hand.”

He pursed his lips and approached the bed. “Aemon is just a boy. The road is fraught with dangers and they’ve not taken a single measure to ensure their safety.” Despite the brutality of such realities, he still climbed abed, pushing away the coverlet hiding her feet from sight. One swollen ankle benefited from his loving and, why not, firm touch. Racks of pleasure rippled to the surface as a fatigued moan escaped her lips. “Why would he do this?”

“He’s always been fascinated with ruins. Dare I say, you have encouraged his pursuits. What did you believe would happen if you took him and Aegon along to Summerhall?” His thumb traced the fibula, thin skin a flimsy protection. He then climbed higher, the warmth of his palm cradling against the bloated flesh. “It’s as if I took it into my head to complain that Alys spends too much time in the stables.”

“She does spend a fair amount of time in the stables, but unlike Aemon she is capable of fulfilling her duties.” At least he would not limit her time with the horses. Lyanna shook her head and pulled her leg away, offering the other one for a like treatment. “My gods, isn’t it rather different from the last time?”

“Slightly more painful, but I doubt it has anything to do with the babe. It’s the Northerner air.” Her wise words flew over his head as Rhaegar was busy studying her leg. “Do not fret, I shall be back to my old self soon enough.”

“You mean back to running roughshod all over my tender heart, lady? I think not.”  His fingers crept higher, the caress turning absentminded. “There is a reason I have so meticulously worked on my bed manner, you know.”

“’Tis so I never think to leave. There is just one thing you have not considered, my love.” He gave her a questioning look. “Much as I enjoy the attention lavished upon my feet,” she wiggled her toes to prove the point, “that is not nearly enough to keep me pinned to this mattress.” Batting her eye-lashes, Lyanna coyly called him over, crooking her finger just so.

Rhaegar chuckled and patted the uncovered flesh lightly. “A valiant attempt, but you shan’t distract me. We are talking about your son and his unfortunate tendency to allow his sister along on ill-advised trips in the middle of the night to the gods know what ruins.”

 “Why is it that whenever he finds himself at the heart of a spot of trouble, he is my son, but whenever he does us proud, he is your son?” she questioned with a pout, slightly miffed, truth be told, that he’d refused her. It was not often that he did. “I have been very near a paragon–“

“Of mischief and brazen conduct,” he interrupted. “But I, on the other hand, have been perfectly amiable throughout my years.” His lips widened in a fond smile. “As far as I recall, I have never once encouraged any of my children to stray.”

“Except for when you do by flaunting a concerning lack of care for the moral values held in high regard.” Just because she’d grown accustomed to her position, did not mean she had forgotten what it was entirely. “I daresay, my love, that is more than enough to make a clear statement as to your opinion of convention.”

“That is not so.” His eyes burned into hers. Lyanna had half-jested, but his frown indicated he took her word for actual concern. “The circumstances stood against us and I worked as best I could with what I had. You are and have been my sole companion for more than a decade. I cannot undo my marriage to Elia; but tell me this, have I even once treated you in an inferior manner?”

Flushing with shame, Lyanna averted her gaze. This had previously been a point of contention between them. It was not fair for her to hold his marriage against him, given she’d known he would never resort to an annulment, nor would he set his wife aside. “’Tis my bloody moods,” she excused herself, the old scapegoat coming out to play. “I speak without myself.”

“I doubt it is the moods.” His weight moved along the mattress until he was lying next to her. One hand stroked her middle, the easy motion of his caress forcing a lump to form in her throat. “’Tis your point. And while I concede conventionality is not my strong suit, you must admit it is not yours either.”

“Of course not, you silly man,” she forced herself to speak. “Convention would have likely done me in.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips, knowing very well that would call her attention to his face. “And yet at times I feel as though I could do with some conventionality.” She sighed. That age for that was past. “Never you mind, it is the moods and I will feel all the better when I am able to take off on my own feet once more.”

“I do mind.” She would have glanced away again, only that his fingers gripped her chin firmly, keeping her in place. “I mind it very much. If you are not pleased, how am I to rest easy?” He did have a point. Theirs, though unconventional, was a union which had its basis on respect and affection all the same. They’d both taken their roles with utmost solemnity and though there had never been any sanctioning of it in the sense some would wish, matters stood no different.

And with such caveat set before her, she fell back onto the practiced and certainly heartfelt reply always at the ready. “I am pleased. I am very pleased.” In a sense of the notion she was. “How could you possibly believe otherwise?”

Her retreat was regarded with a modicum of suspicion. Never let it be said Rhaegar did not know her inside and out. “You have settled upon being stubborn, I see. Very well, my dear. I will allow it, on one condition; do not upset yourself too much over it.”

She rolled her eyes and slapped his shoulder. “Never fear. I’ve a thousand other matters to be upset over. Not the last of which is not being able to chase after those two children myself.” Unfortunately for her, her last pregnancy did not offer a lasting model, although it had been the model pregnancy, little pain, little worries. This time, despite being rather certain she would not experience the most adverse of manifestations, she found herself more often than not in need of chairs and mattresses and thicker stockings.

“Praised be the Father. And you would chase them too if you could. Having those two gallivanting about is more than enough for me.” The assurance had him pausing mid-stroke, as a thought formed in his mind, Lyanna perceived by the slight shift in his gaze. “You do not think this is about anything other than ruin sighting, do you?”

Did she? Lyanna pulled a face. “I would not say ay roe nay either. Alys did not seem concerned with all the talk of betrothals, but then Alys need not be the one to show concern.” She would be an absolute fool not to know which one of her children pulled the strings. “If she did plan never to return though, she’s left quite a lot of dear objects behind.” He sighed.

“I like it as much as you do.” Naturally, any father would feel that way. “But he would one day be the Queen’s brother. I cannot have it said I encourage any of them to vie for the throne. And yet I cannot entrust them to the tender mercies of chance alone.”

“Why did you not insist upon Willas Tyrell then?” Again she shifted, wincing at the pain knifing along her back. Rhaegar’s hands were already working to help her in the endeavour. “If it is the King’s order, and the gods know Lord Tyrell is more interested in pleasing you than anything else, eventually his heir would have to relent.”

“And then what?” He grimaced. Lyanna touched a hand to his cheek and offered a brief smile. “In the end, coercing him would only make her unhappy. Safe, I grant you though.”

“Who said anything about coercion?” When she was finally sitting up enough that she could lean her weight against him, Lyanna used his shoulder as leverage to turn slightly on her side. “One needn’t more than a good dose of charm to work through any misgivings a lord’s heir might have.”

“Whatever your superior female mind is telling you right now, my answer is still in the negative. Trickery is just as bad.” He wagged his finger in front of her face.

“I never said a thing about trickery either. Allow her a chance to meet him and for him to know her. Might be if they see one another, converse, he would be more amenable. There is no harm to it, is there?” And the fact that one could further plot to assist one’s daughter once there held its own manner of appeal. Lyanna had been waiting years and years to try her hand at matchmaking. Since Aemon and Rhaegel were about as malleable as cold stones, Alys would have to do.  

“Only that you might grow too hopeful.” Rhaegar gathered her closer to him. “I think it might be twins again,” he opinionated as the babe kicked beneath his hand. Lyanna wondered if he’d felt that.

“Heavens nay. I pray ‘tis not twins.” Laughter rumbled against the top of her head. “Easy for you to laugh, you were on the other side of the keep with a cup of wine in hand.”

“I would have been at your side, had you allowed it,” he pointed out unhelpfully. Eight birthing experiences after Aemon and she could not bring herself to answer in the affirmative to his offer. “I distinctly remember asking whether you would allow my presence. I have seen blood before, you know?”

Waving her hand dismissive, she said, “You don’t understand. I am not trying to protect you.” Scowling up at him, she fought to get the words out. “You did not take me into the fray when the Greyjoys rebelled. You do not take me into any battle of yours.”

“Because there is the distinct possibility someone’s arrow might find a mark in you. Precisely because I am trying to protect you. I doubt the birthing chamber is equipped with archers though.” Just like him to be smart when she was trying to make a point.

“And I am trying to protect myself as well, your archers be damned. The only pleasant thing about birthing is holding our child after, which I am more than willing to share.” She heard his exhale. And no protest followed. Lyanna did hope it was the last time they had such a conversation. For what it was worth, they very notion that he might want to be anywhere near at the blessed moment left her cold.

“I will never understand how your mind works.”

“That is just as well, my love, I have to keep your attention somehow.”

  

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
